Everyone’s over at ThoughtsontheDead.com. It is a fine party, with a good band and drugs and a downright European variety of cheeses. There may or may not be an ice sculpture. Paul McCartney has been turned away at the door; there will be no closing all-star Hey Jude super-jam.
There are trays of this, and bowls of that; everyone’s pockets and purses are full of the other. Our party people are intelligent and witty, most of them, but all the dumb people are very limber and make poor decisions about sexual partners. The coat check will hold on to anything you want, not just coats: you could leave a hat or a Romanian.
It’s a Bill Graham Production, of course. Precarious Lee set the whole shindig up, so try not to lean on anything. There’s no list and certainly no cover, just Big-Dicked Sheila at the door letting the right folks in.
I’m sure you’ve met the sound system.
Take your time. Find the right shoes. Make sure you’ve got your sunglasses; it’s not a party unless you need your sunglasses to leave. No rush, though: we’re not going anywhere.
TotD and The Boys will be playing all night.